


Tracking

by Fey_Nikola



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Dominance, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fey_Nikola/pseuds/Fey_Nikola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assigning Il Lupo to track the Master Assassin only made sense. Unfortunately, admiration can make a man do dangerous things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tracking

Following the Assassino across the rooftops is an exercise in timing, intuition and patience. Some days Il Lupo would be lucky, and manage to keep just in step. Today had seemed like it would be one of those days.

He curses quietly under his breath and slowly climbs down to one of the dirt ruts that masquerade as a street in this part of Roma. He crouches near the muddy part of the crossroad, hoping for a clear sign. For a man who dressed in white, he could be quite difficult to track. Il Lupo hoped someday to be able to emulate such skill.

The moon gleams coldly in the sky; giving the tracks he spied strange shadows and deforming their dimensions. Even gently tracing the outlines with a forefinger gives him no clearer sign, and he lets out a small sigh of defeat. Neither Baltazar nor Fiora would be well pleased at his lack of progress. They did not understand that being trained in the methods of the Assassins is not enough to track and spy on a Master more akin to a wraith than a man.

Wiping the traces of mud off his glove on the edge of his boot, Il Lupo stands and turns in the direction of the docks. A small metallic click was his only warning.

He yelps as his back is slammed against the wall of one of the houses, his left arm pinned behind him by a weight forcing all breath from his chest. A drop of water lands on his collarbone and he tries to kick out at his attacker, but the weight on him forces him higher against the wall until his toes can barely touch the ground and black spots dance in front of his eyes. He was almost certain he can hear his bones creaking.

“What is a well-dressed young man such as you doing in this part of Roma? Don’t you know there are dangerous men about at this hour?”

The voice is husky, deep, and mocking; and Il Lupo wants to growl and snap but can only manage a wheeze. In defiance of his helplessness, he gives a sharp flick of his head to flip his hood up enough so he can see his attacker, and the squeak he would have given thankfully only comes out as a higher pitched gasp.

A white hood is the first thing he sees; close enough that he can make out the weave of the fabric even in the shadows cast by the taller house across the little alleyway. The tip of a nose and a lightly bearded chin are barely visible, an old scar cutting through the dark hair. Il Lupo looks a little further down to see the Assassino’s infamous hidden blade resting against the hollow of his throat, and realizes that there was no drop of water. Just the cold tip of steel ready to end him.

“I-I was…” A story, he needs a story quickly. His eyes stay fixed on the casing strapped to the underside of the intricately filigreed bracer while his mind races in circles. “My friend, Augustino, he lives near here. I was going to visit him. Please, I have a little money…”

The knee to his gut comes utterly without warning, and the arm holding him to the wall does not waver. “And do you normally travel to visit friends over the rooftops?”

He wants to scream, so badly. Most of his mind gibbers in a panic, but his instinct is sharp and keen, and will not let him die so easily. “Trying to… keep in shape… for the races…” He gasps out, wanting to curl around the aches in his torso but that sharp point against his throat keeps his head back against the wall.

For a bare moment he entertains the thought of using his one free hand to fight back, even knowing he would never do any damage.

“Races, you say?” The deep voice still mocks him, and Il Lupo grits his teeth around his wheezes for air. “And is it also good practice to follow me across much of Roma?”

He swears he actually feels his heart stop. A lightening of the oppressive weight allows him a hissing gasp of air, and his chest thunders with his renewed heartbeat. He knows. The Assassino knows, and here is Il Lupo at his mercy.

The spots dancing in his vision lessen and allow him to look up at the shadows where the Assassino’s eyes must be. His mind is quiet now, and he can feel the strain in his left arm and the outline of his own less elegant hidden blade pressing against his spine.

“Yes.”

The chuckle is nearly soundless, given away by the slight shaking of armoured shoulders. Il Lupo feels his mouth curl into a little smirk, and relaxes in the Assassino’s iron hold.

“How long have you been following me?”

Il Lupo blinks slowly, deliberately, and licks his still-smirking lips before he answers. “When did you first notice me following you?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Templars.” His breath is speeding back up again. “And you? I’ve heard you’re just the attack dog; your master’s pet murderer.”

The Assassino does not react to his taunts. “Give me the names of your masters.”

“Give me the names of yours.” He counters, and the little frown under the Assassino’s hood makes him shrink back against the solid wall.

“You are brazen. If your skills had not impressed me, you would be dead already.”

A jolt of energy zips through Il Lupo’s body, and he can’t help the shiver as it works its way from his head down to his toes. A feeling of pride curls in his belly and swells up to thicken his throat. “I am self-taught.”

“Not wholly, I think.” The hood shifts slightly, and Il Lupo can almost feel the considering look moving over his shadowed face. “You employ the techniques of Assassins, you ape our equipment and our dress. Why work for the Templars? What does it gain you?”

Despite being able to breathe near-freely, he cannot help but gasp for air. His skin feels flushed and the tickle of the blade against his collarbone sends tiny shivers up and down his spine. “Let us say that it is a philosophical agreement.”

“You agree with them? You believe that the whole world should bow to a few men unquestioningly?” Il Lupo shrugs as best he can.

“I believe that most people are too stupid to know what’s best for them. I believe that there are monsters out there that do not deserve to exist, and I believe that the Templars have a solution.” All true, and all said with the force of complete conviction. The Assassino is unmoved.

“What about the other people? The innocents just trying to live their lives?”

“They and their families would be safe. Is that not what every person wants?”

“But safety at the expense of choice? How can that be considered just?”

Il Lupo snarls and presses himself back further into the wall since he cannot move forward. “Just?! People long ago entrusted their betters with justice and matters of law, how would this be any different?”

“Because leaders should not wield utter control over their subjects. There has to be consensus, and balance. Without, there is only corruption. How can you trust that your Templar masters will do what is best for the people? They have not done very well so far.”

Doubt creeps in, but he must hold strong to his ideals. “The Borgia are only one family.”

“But how many can rule in your perfect world? How can you trust that, whoever does end up the puppet master, they will have the best interests of the puppets in mind and not simply take everything for themselves?”

His tongue sits thick and heavy in his mouth, and he has to swallow twice before he can answer. “The nobility have acted thusly for centuries. People would not even notice a difference.”

A small smirk appears under the peak of the white hood, and he tries harder to blend with the stone at his back. “The people would not be capable of noticing anything. Their minds would be not their own, after all.”

Another, harder swallow. “Then we shall have to agree to disagree.”

“Indeed.”

The white hood tilts to the side and Il Lupo grits his teeth tighter as the point of the hidden blade traces up to the underside of his chin. He’d been able to ignore the press of the Assassino’s torso and legs against his own, but now that he is about to die he closes his eyes and relishes in the sensation of a live body next to his own. It has been so long since he has touched another without the intent to kill.

The moment stretches, and Il Lupo licks his lips. He isn’t sure when they’d fallen open. His toes ache from standing on them, and his left arm is completely numb from his shoulder down. He can feel the edge of the blade tracing small circles against his skin, and he cannot hold back another full-body shiver.

Il Lupo opens his eyes as the hidden blade traces a line up over his jaw and comes to rest against his cheek. He doesn’t dare turn his head, but he can see the Assassino’s fingers grip the edge of his hood and start to draw it back.

He can’t help his flinch, and his free right hand is holding back the cold bracer before his brain could catch up. His eyes now are un-shadowed, and fully exposed to the Assassino. He tries hard to school his expression, but the lust and panic are a volatile combination.

The press of the arm against his chest, the legs blocking his own, the blade against his cheek. He hadn’t even noticed how hard he is until he bucked against the muscled thigh. He can’t even feel ashamed of the high pitched moan that follows. One more grinding thrust against the man who is about to kill him, and Il Lupo’s eyes roll back into his head as he cums.

Seconds, maybe minutes pass before Il Lupo comes back to himself; his body limp and twitching and entirely held up by the Assassino. He idly wonders if he’d shocked the man, and his little pants turn into breathless laughter. He releases his tight grip on the bracer, and tries to remember when he’d hooked his left leg around the Assassino’s hip.

Il Lupo looks up to meet the Assassino’s shadowed gaze, and laughs even harder at the sight of the man’s mouth gaping open. He attempts a lascivious smile, but it ends up more relaxed and pleased. “Are you going to kill me now?”

The Assassino actually has to shake his head, and his chin tips as he likely looks down to make certain that it had actually happened. The growing damp stain on the front of his breeches gives testimony.

“It seems you’re speechless. An accomplishment, I’m sure.” Il Lupo trembles as the Assassino’s focus moves back up to his face, and his cock twitches hopefully against the wet spot he’d made. That little frown is back and more intense than before.

A twist and a shove, and suddenly Il Lupo has his front grinding into the wall. His legs have been kicked apart and his arms are pinned above his head. He has to cut off a pained howl as his left arm throbs, and thrashes back against the body pinning him when he feels his hood settle against the back of his neck.

“How?” Comes the low, throaty hiss as the hidden blade is pressed to his ribs, stopping the thrashing and coaxing a low moan instead. “How can this excite you so?”

He whimpers and presses his forehead hard against the wall, trying to hide his face from his enemy. The Assassino’s armour scrapes against his back mercilessly, and when he gave a moment’s thought to what might be pressed into his lower back Il Lupo can’t help but grind against the immovable body behind him.

“Tell me who you work for.” He can feel the lips moving against the shell of his ear, the rasp of that dark beard against his neck. It took him a while to recognize the needy mewling noises filling the alley as his own.

“Tell me,” The Assassino cajoles in a reasonable tone. “And I’ll give you what you want.” Il Lupo nearly bites through his lower lip trying to hold back the answer.

The blade against his ribs slowly slides downward, fingertips trailing over cloth in its wake and leaving a lingering path on his skin which burns. Il Lupo can’t keep his mouth shut, but instinct muzzles his voice and no words pass his lips. Only embarrassing gasps and moans, whines and squeaks as the flat of the blade comes to rest against his hip, the Assassino’s hand pressing overtop of it.

“Tell me.” The Assassino whisperes, his voice dropping to a growl lower than any before, and Il Lupo knew that if he hadn’t cum before, that voice alone would’ve done it.

“B-B-Balthazar d-de Silva. A barber. C-Cesare’s spy. Please!” He pleads and writhes helplessly in the Assassino’s hold. “P-please!”

The Assassino laughs quietly against the side of Il Lupo’s neck. “Very well.”

Il Lupo shouts as the Assassino grinds slowly against his ass, turning the hidden blade to press the edge against his waist and biting down hard on the nape of his neck. For a long instant, the world was perfectly still as he drowned in the sensations of danger and pain and the larger, powerful body pressing him into unyielding stone. Then the Assassino growls quietly and twitches, and Il Lupo is cumming so hard he can see stars.

By the time he is capable of taking in the world again, the Assassino is already gone. He catches his breath crumpled against the side of a house in the dirt and mud; his cum is already drying his breeches uncomfortably to his skin. When he can finally control his legs enough to stand he flinches at the aches and pain of his arm, chest and feet. He stumbles across the alley to lean against a shuttered window, not looking back as he brushes off his clothes.

Once his legs and his breathing are steady again, he mounts the windowsill and climbs nimbly to the rooftop. From the position of the moon there are only two hours before dawn, and he still needs to report in. He grimaces as a wet spot brushes against his ass and tries to wipe the mud away, but his glove comes away smelling not of mud. Hesitantly, he lifts his fingers to his lips and takes a small taste. One last full-body shudder, and a small grunt of longing.

Perhaps his report can wait another day. He isn’t very presentable currently, even to a former-courtesan and a spy.

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Assassin's Creed kink meme.


End file.
